


Weak Point

by GibbousLunation



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum - Freeform, Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Poor Prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-07 10:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12838974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GibbousLunation/pseuds/GibbousLunation
Summary: based off of this art by kaciart! http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/166724916768"I was thinking like some kind of training exercise, but likeIt actually turns out to be something sinister."They told him it was a ‘practical exercise’, to test his loyalty to the Crown under pressure. Cor’s exact wording had been something more along the lines of gruff ‘hey you did the easy part, so. Hate to be the bearer of bad news but everything goes to hell in a handbasket from here on out.’Prompto was pretty sure somewhere in there was the insinuation that he’d be fine. It was a practice after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaciart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaciart/gifts).



> This was one of my nanowrimo projects for the month, so hey! it's all actually finished and neatly typed up so unless my computer combusts, you can solidly guarantee I'll complete this. For once. Oops.   
> Big shout out to Kaciart and all their beautiful artwork for being so inspiring and unique!   
> There is violent scenes in here btw but they aren't super delved into, just a heads up though.

Crownsguard training was simultaneously the hardest experience of Prompto’s short life, and somehow also the most satisfying. He knew it was in part because he felt like he was finally helping, finally pulling his weight, and partly because he was officially going to be Someone. A particular kind of Someone that could avoid the threat of being lost in the ether when Noct inevitably became the kind of busy that meant important duty related meetings. And speeches. And ballrooms Prompto would’ve never in a million years so much as see the interior décor of. Partly, though, it felt… right in a way Prompto had no words for.

Maybe without the physical and mental fatigue of nearly breaking his bones or his entire face during ‘warm up’ he could consider the _why’s_ of that particular can of worms.

He’d been exercising for years at this point, slowly feeling around the edges of his limits and finagling ways to convince them to stretch a little wider. Running had helped, Cor and Gladio had helped, in bits and pieces here and there that often ended in more splashes of purple on his too pale skin than any real progress- Prompto smiled though, even when Noct complained and his arms felt like they’d been soaked and dried in cement, because it meant he would be stronger, he would be _better_.

 _‘Remember, Prom,’_ Gladio had told him, face atypically grim and focused. Prompto felt over exposed under the intensity of the stare. Gladio and him had never really interacted one on one before this. Prompto liked the guy, all soft smiles and warm eyes underneath threatening stances and bulging muscles, but they’d never really breached the whole ‘friends through a friend’ to ‘actually just friends’ topic. Gladio ruffled his hair sometimes though, and laughed at his jokes, so there was something at least.

Prom tried not to shift too much, tried to get his eyes to stay focused and alert.

 _‘Crownsguard training is notoriously unforgiving, alright? Don’t ever expect them to go easy on you.’_ Prompto gulped. _‘It might seem like training, but out there? It’s all real. They’re here to figure out where you break, your job is to show ‘em you don’t. Got it?’_

 _‘Don’t break, yeah, sure.’_ He’d nodded, not really thinking beyond a series of wordless panic and ‘oh god, what?’

 _‘If you can’t handle the training you aren’t worth the Prince’s time,’_ Cor had shrugged. _‘Least that’s how they see it. Truth is most of ‘em haven’t been outside of Insomnia either, they don’t know anything about the real world outside of simulations. It’s a lot of big talk. The reason I’m here? It’s because I think you’re possibly better than that. You pulled the Prince out of a mob riot last summer, I saw the footage. Got socked in the eye, right?’_

Prompto had winced, thinking about how not so terribly fun the broken eye socket had been from that particular summer escapade. Noctis hadn’t been allowed to leave the Palace grounds for weeks after, and Prom hadn’t had the clearance to go in and see him at all. Part of the reason they’d started seriously considering this specific avenue, in fact. All over wanting to attend a stupid ‘in the park’ concert because Noct had wanted to just yanno, be a teenager for once. Poor guy couldn’t escape political drama even for a weekend, apparently, some drunken guy started yelling about taxes and some other people chimed in and it got messy.

Prompto had some weird sort of instinctive reflex that cropped up sometimes, when he felt backed into a corner. There’d been a thrown elbow, and he couldn’t see out of an eye, but they’d made it out. The guy that tried to grab Prompto’s arm had ended up with worse. The other guy who’d got in Noctis’ face had been the one to hit Prompto’s instead. He hadn’t seen that guy get back up.

Ignis had reprimanded Prompto for being reckless, Gladio had laughed until he cried, Prompto had really wanted to forget the whole thing. Fun times.

 _‘That was brave, and dumb, but we’ll focus on the brave for today.’_ Prompto decided to also focus on the brave part, also coincidentally the complimentary part from Cor the Immortal himself. Wow.

‘ _They’re going to weasel their way into your head as best as they can, and they know every tactic under the sun to make people crack open. The difference between you and those other trainee’s is that you know what the price of being the Prince’s personal entourage means. You’ve seen it first hand. You know what to expect and have a personal stake in the consequences.’_ Cor had been facing a window, gaze locked a hundred miles away. _‘You know how to prioritize someone else’s best interest because you want to, not because you’ve been told to. That’s something they can’t teach. That’s what makes you stand out.’_

Someone else’s best interest sounded a lot like heroism, Prompto thought he was maybe more just entirely too codependent. A world without Noct was a world with very little meaning in Prompto’s life, and Prompto was worth very little in the grand scheme of anything. Wasn’t too hard to prioritize Noct over himself, that’s what had made him decide to jump in front of the angry drunken guy in the first place. That’s what had made him determined to be good enough all those years ago.

Training was more or less the same routine he’d forced onto himself; running first dawn until someone inevitably puked- the other recruits had pushed him around the first day assuming it’d be him, they weren’t laughing when Prom had barely been out of breath two hours later. Then came hand to hand training, weapons handling, obstacle courses, and that was all before they broke for lunch. The last two Prompto had discovered he wasn’t terrible at, beyond his clumsiness and unsteady steps, he was fast and tiny enough to be nimble, and he knew his way around all sorts of machines. He wasn’t so great at hand to hand, or any weapon not involving a machine.

Things he could quantify into whirring gears that clicked and followed lists made sense. Knowing his footwork in a specific circumstance against people with much bigger muscles made less sense. His skin was probably more purple than not most days, but it was fine.

He figured everyone had their weak points, his were just more glaring and painfully easy to take advantage of.

 _Don’t break_ , he’d tell himself, rallying up for round thirteen with bruises upon his bruises and feeling more half dead and combusting with adrenaline than he felt alive, _you’re doing this for Noct._

Prompto figured he could probably do anything for Noct, if he asked. Noct wasn’t one for flaunting his title, especially not around his best friend. Prompto figured it made him uncomfortable, like he was cementing their differences as if there weren’t already stairways made of marble and a huge looming throne standing between them. Noct never took advantage of anything Prompto had, which was not much at all, never asked for anything beyond begging Prompto to skip work, or homework, or even class on one occasion. But he knew he could always say no, that if Prompto genuinely didn’t want to, or couldn’t, or it was asking too much, Noct would back off.

Except, he hadn’t figured out, it seemed, there was very little Prompto would ever deny Noctis of.

Noct had asked him, seriously, with that particular grimace around his lips and that particular lilt to his words that meant he was trying to echo his father unconsciously (and would get extremely uncomfortable if Prompto ever pointed it out), to do this, though. To join the Crownsguard, his personal retinue. Noctis, had asked _him_.

Prompto had maybe thought he’d take up photography professionally; it was the only thing he was ever remotely proud of, really. Or maybe he’d dabble in IT work; being a ‘technophile’, as Noctis liked to tease him with, meant he was good with figuring out problems and bugs. He’d made a couple robots once, just for the heck of it. Something about their red glowing eyes had made him too uncomfortable to keep going, he’d dismantled them days later. He’d considered art school, trade school, a generic office job with a 9-5 schedule and somewhere not haunted by empty walls and post it notes that were never read. He’d thought about life like a giant colour by numbers painting, and maybe there wasn’t enough numbers for him to have any role at all. He could do anything, fade into the background, a whirring gear in a machine that clicked and followed lists and made sense.

He’d never really had any set goals or dreams, it was all just a matter of drifting. He’d figured Noct would get eventually swallowed up by the glitter and the glory like he was meant to, finally ascend to the crushing responsibilities his lot in life had allowed him, and a series of very fancy and extremely elegant doors would promptly slam directly in Prompto’s face. And then he’d probably go back to the way he’d been before Noct, but that wasn’t really something he liked to ever think about. At all.

Then Noctis had _asked._

 _‘Prompto, I. I’d really like it if.’_ Noct cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably before drawing long breath. Ignis nodded in approval in the distance over Noct’s shoulder, Gladio shot them a thumbs up and a wink. Prompto hadn’t known how to interpret any of that. Something in Noct’s shoulders settled- molten metal becoming steel plates. _‘I think you would make an excellent addition to my personal Crownsguard, should you desire the position. We would compensate you generously, and of course training will be implemented, and I, uh I mean if you. Um.’_

Prompto blinked. Once, twice. His brain froze, rebooted. Processed.

Prompto had never grinned so wide. ‘ _Gee, Noct, if I didn’t know you better I’d think you were proposing.’_

Noct’s ears turned red, which Prompto also didn’t know how to interpret, or if he should interpret it at all. _‘Shut up.’_ He shoved at Prompto’s shoulder, Prompto saw Ignis shaking his head and sighing in absolute defeat, Gladio’s shoulders were shaking with laughter.

_‘So, do they issue all the uniforms like Gladio’s? Or do I get to pick mine out. Cause I gotta say, dunno if the bare chest look is really for me.’_

Noct jolted, turned and faced him with so much surprise and gratitude Prompto’s heart swelled. This kid was supposed to be king one day, command legions to do his bidding with pure loyalty alone. He had no right to look like such a hopefully adorable idiot _._ He could see it, hordes of people following Noctis and his sparkling eyes anywhere he asked. Maybe that was just him, though. _‘You, what? You’ll do it?’_

 _When have I ever said no to anything_ , Prompto thought, chuckling. ‘ _Yeah, Noct. Ever at your side.’_

Round thirteen of hand to hand combat was a guy twice his height and with fists the size of wrecking balls.

Good thing Prompto practiced with a guy three times bigger than that or he might almost have been absolutely terrified. As it stood, he was mainly just thinking about the hot bath he’d need after this. Those fists were going to leave bruises the size of his entire face, he’d _be_ just a bruise.

Prompto’s worst skill, according to Gladio, was his confidence. Although definitely better now than it had been. Prompto thought it was more like being realistic, didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight back.

“Argentum!” A familiar voice called out as Prompto ducked another wild haymaker and managed to land a good solid hit to the back of the guys knee. So far, he’d managed to avoid everything but a glancing blow across his cheek as he’d twisted out of the way. Which would bruise but, well, Prompto hadn’t been practicing how to take punches for nothing. Gladio would probably have said that wasn’t the purpose of his training but, that was what it boiled down to most days.

Gladio had also once said his best skill was in his perceptiveness, how he sometimes zoned in on the way muscles flexed before the arm reared back. It didn’t happen too often, but Cor had shrugged after training once and said he was ‘almost vaguely a natural’ which was almost vaguely a genuine compliment.

But he also had the attention span of a gnat, so it didn’t surprise him when he ended up flat on his back moments later. One minute and forty-three seconds. A new record.

Prompto blinked up to see Cor, standing with his arms crossed and a familiar twinkling in his eye that meant he was somewhere between not quite proud and not quite impressed. He’d take it. Take it and tack that above his mantle place. If he had a mantle place anyways.

“Congratulations, you’ve made it to the final phase of training.” Cor almost smiled, Prompto almost passed out. “Pack your things and meet me in my office in ten minutes.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They told him it was a ‘practical exercise’, to test his loyalty to the Crown under pressure. Cor’s exact wording had been something more along the lines of gruff _‘hey you did the easy part, so. Hate to be the bearer of bad news but everything goes to hell in a handbasket from here on out.’_

Prompto was pretty sure somewhere in there was the insinuation that he’d be fine. It was a practice after all. Didn’t stop him from being nervous, or remembering Cor’s earlier words about cracking people open and panicking all over again.

They were going to interrogate him, the whole ‘university hazing’ thing he’d heard about but never had the opportunity to experience, complete with a staged kidnapping and a strange place and probably a lot of yelling and bright lights. Or so he assumed. Prompto didn’t understand much about frats or college parties, he just assumed there was always yelling.

He just had to be at a specific corner at a specific time, and act surprised when they dragged him off for some indeterminate amount of time. A bit hard to explain ‘I don’t know where I’ll be or for how long or if I’ll be okay but don’t worry’ in a post-it note for his parents, but they weren’t really giving him much to work with. Not that his parents would probably notice anyways, or come home this month. Or next month, likely.  

Prompto wondered if he’d be gone longer than a month, felt sad for a minute over the lost levels in Kings Knight and the bundles he’d miss, then made Noctis take his phone and promise to harvest for him and got over it. He also gave Noct his camera and told him to take pictures for him, but he figured the guy would just put it down somewhere and roll over and fall back asleep. That or take a bunch of extremely unflattering photos of Gladio or Ignis or whichever Kingsglaive was nearby at the time, and they’d immediately have to confiscate the thing or break it to prevent them from leaking to the newspapers.

He pre-emptively mourned his cameras short life a little.

Gladio and Ignis had congratulated him, Gladio with a smack to the center of his back, a wild grin, and the loud laugh of _‘maybe you aren’t just comic relief after all, shortie.’_ The noogie had been less appreciated. Ignis smiled at him a little bit, and promised the spiciest curry for him when he returned. Which almost implied that Ignis assumed he’d pass, either that or he would be making pity curry. It felt like a winning day for the most part.

Noct had even said he was proud of him, right before elbowing him in the ribs and calling him a ‘scrawny nerd’. Ah, friendship. It still made his heart do strange leaping and lurching things, though, when Noct leaned in a little too close and hugged him, later.

Prompto wondered if his parents might have been proud, a little, if they’d been home enough to hear about his current career path.

He pulled his jacket a little tighter around his shoulders, headed out to the specific corner he’d been told to wait at. Didn’t matter if his parents were proud, he guessed, this wasn’t for them anyways.

It was a bit of a trek, but the paper had said to be at the corner of Monito Avenue and Tutela Street at 8:15 exactly. He wondered if he’d be allowed to keep his beanie, the winter wind was a little biting. Not quite enough for him to call off his usual run, but enough he’d worn two pairs of socks. Prompto had always had weird circulation, though, like his body didn’t make enough blood to spread all the way down to his fingers and toes. When he was a lonely kid he’d made up all these weird superhero origin stories, like he’d find out one day his fingers were actually cybernetic, and one day it would spread upwards and he’d have super strength and speed. That the barcode on his wrist was proof he was meant to be tougher and better than he was, that one day a flip would be switched and he’d wake up a superhero.

Then he’d started having the reoccurring dreams about red glowing eyes and freaked out over a splash of purple in his mirrored reflection, and the barcode stopped being so exciting.

Noct was the real superhero, anyways. He could warp, had all those fancy armiger things, he definitely had the total protagonist thing going for him. Prompto didn’t mind being the side kick. Or the sidekick to the sidekick and the sidekick’s advisor. As long as he was helping.

He huffed a long breath, hopping in place. The silver cloud of his breath swirled up around the two grey signposts, spreading outwards like icy arms. Like a hug, he thought, distantly. He checked his watch, still ten minutes out. Would they let him keep his watch? Probably not. Darn, it was the one present he’d gotten from his father, too. They’d probably give it back at the end, though. He kicked out a foot, shaking it a little to try to get the feeling back in his toes.

Would they show up exactly at 8:15? The mental picture was a little hilarious, a group of kidnappers waiting around the corner, counting to 60 under their breath and shivering. Maybe one of them was playing King’s Knight, too. Leveling up right before the great big kidnapping escapade, like it was just a daily chore and Prompto was just a guy on a list to check off.

He stared up at the sign again, anxiously double checking the address in his head to make sure he’d shown up at the right place. Round two was still newbie territory, still well within the fuck up zone. Cor had said to stay calm for as long as he could, that mind games only worked when you let yourself get overwhelmed. He was supposed to focus on his breathing, and the phrase. Just repeat the phrase whenever he felt like he wanted to talk. Clear his thoughts from anything else, that it was okay to cry.

 _Gods_ , he hoped he didn’t cry. That would be embarrassing. Gladio would probably bring it up in the worst situations just to make him get all flustered and squirmy.

A car drove past behind him, Prompto jolted and spun around, expecting maybe cartoon masked villains. He’d been watching too many horror movies. The silver family van sped off down the long empty road, Prompto shook himself, laughing a little self depreciatingly. What kind of Crownsguard got startled by a minivan. _Astrals._

He ducked his head, thinking of how Noct would laugh if he knew. Maybe he did, maybe they were all sitting cozy back at the Citadel around some flat screen TV watching Prompto freak out like a stray cat. Assholes. Probably had cocoa too. Ignis, perfect at everything since the moment he was born probably, made excellent hot chocolate with exactly the right proportions of marshmallow to drink. Enough that it was nice and sweet and had a colder jolt, but not too much it was a melty mushy mess. Prompto could really go for a cocoa.

His gaze trailed from his worn-down training boots to the snow gathering on the ground around him. It was beautiful, catching the street lights just so, like glittery dust against the factory grime around him. His hands itched for a camera.

Prompto followed a specific snowflake, lazily looping in the faint breeze, spiraling around him on its way down to land perfectly in his footprint.

 _Pretty,_ he thought happily. _Huh_ , his brain also whispered, less happily. _I don’t remember my feet being that big._

Something clinked in the alleyway behind him, like a bottle falling against a garbage can lid. A boot scraping on cold cement, muffled in the snow. _Oh,_ his brain supplied helpfully. _Why did I think they’d be in a car?_

He didn’t get to react beyond tensing slightly before a cloth was pressed tightly against his nose. Muzzily he saw the glittery snow jump up and grab him, before a pair of boots stepped in front of the golden street light and his eyes finally slipped shut.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Prompto dreamt about the time when he was sixteen, the summer after befriending Noct, they’d decided to see a late-night thriller together on their own. Noctis had just got his license, and begrudging permission from Ignis to drive it, permitting that they both update him every few minutes, and that Gladio tag along in a nearby theater.

Big guy had gone to see some romantic comedy, to Prompto’s complete amusement at the time. Less amusing when Gladio had stuck a sticky bag of popcorn down the back of his shirt. Noct had called it bonding, and said Gladio ‘must like him’ because he hadn’t threatened to ‘throw him outside into the dump’ for his ‘garbage taste’.

Prompto had laughed all the way up until the opening credits stopped.

The movie had boasted its suspenseful twists and turns, its big-name actors and the way it was all ‘based on a true story’, which Prompto had thought was kind of cheesy now a days. Noct had hears somewhere it wasn’t a scary movie though, and convinced Prompto through the power of big doe eyed sad pouting to see it with him anyways.

“Come on, Prom! It’s a thriller not a horror movie! Think of it as more action-y than scream-y. I promise there won’t be any jump scares or bad make up effects for you to get angry about for three hours afterwards. I’ll even let you ramble about the cinematography or whatever afterwards, okay?”

“Why do you even want to see it so bad?” Prompto bemoaned, already packing his overnight bag and scouring his house for a crumpled twenty anyways. “And, excuse me, you know I’d ramble about cinematography without your permission anyways, thank you very much.”

  
“Because I have a movie pass, and this is the special for the month, and if I see one more movie I get a free code for more unlockables in King’s Knight.”

“What?!”

“I’ll pay for your ticket!”

“Wait, hold on, free unlockables? Noct, why didn’t you tell me about this card! If you get that sword I’ve been saving for I swear-“

And of course, Prompto had all the force of will when it came to Noct of a baby kitten, so he’d been in the car with Noctis and Gladio still arguing over who had the better character build all the way to the show. Gladio had said the barbarian was the best starter, which was, frankly, ridiculous.

Then the theater darkened, and the eerie music started, and someone was being tied up and thrown in the back of a small trunk. Except the movie wanted the watcher to think it was them being tied up, that they were in the trunk trying to kick out a back light, and _oh. Hello phobia I never knew I had._

Prompto had this weird moment, mid movie, where he was suddenly sitting a foot to the right and watching himself watch the movie. And then he was watching someone else. Someone small and kept in some glassy dome that was full of clear, goopy, molasses never knowing if he’d be let out at all. Which was super fun and not at all horrifying and confusing simultaneously. 

He’d held it together pretty well- even with the feeling of an elastic band slowly crushing his organs increasing with every scene, cumulating in the dramatic end where someone was left underground in a secret tunnel no one knew about, tied up. He’d meant to let out a breath of air to maybe convince his lungs to work properly for once, but it had come out as something high pitched and wounded. Noct’s concerned look immediately locked on to him in the dim half lighting and Prompto felt distantly like a giant weenie.

“You alright?” Noct whispered, nudging his shoulder as the movie winded down. Prompto’s hands were frozen claws on his arm rests, his nod a jerking mechanical bob.

“Yeah, j-just a little intense.” Was that his strangled voice? _Gods._

“You’re telling me,” Noct scoffed, eyes trailing back to the final scene of the movie.

Leaving the theater was a breath of fresh air, except for the way the lights made him dizzy and nauseated for some reason. Except that Noct left for the bathroom and the hallway cleared out shortly after, leaving Prompto perfectly alone with his building anxiety.

In reality, Noctis had cheerfully popped out of the bathroom shortly after, slapped Prompto playfully on the shoulder and dragged him down the hallway to find Gladio waiting for them in the lounge already with a book. In reality, Noctis had convinced Gladio to let him drive them home, and raved about the surprises of the movie. Prompto finally found his way back to the surface long enough to make a few well-timed jokes and yammer on about the cinematography like Noctis expected him to. In reality, it had been enough that the slight hint of concern in Noct’s furrowed brows had faded away, and Prompto soon forgot enough about the movie to sprawl upside down on his best friend’s couch, chasing the remaining night hours badly playing video games and attempting to tickle Noctis to distract him long enough to lose.

In the dream, everything was quiet. Prompto still felt the fresh nauseating fear from the movie, but distorted in a way that left him unable to remember where he’d been.

His dreams felt syrupy, off kilter, Prompto waited in a half-lit hallway, listening to snickers echoing after him like trailing vapours. Noctis left for the bathroom and didn’t come back. Gladio had never come with them, and Prompto was alone.

 _If I can get outside, it’ll be daytime._ The theater halls were long, twisting. A series of doors half open along the dim trail. He knew in the way dream knowledge worked that something terrible was waiting inside each one of them, but he couldn’t stop moving. _It’ll end soon, the movies almost over, it’s daytime outside._

There was a pole around the corner, a signpost with stretching arms, ice hung in spires like reaching claws. A door closed behind him, and Prompto wasn’t in the hallway at all, he was in the trunk with his wrists bound. He was the one with his legs pulled too close and no room to breathe.

‘They’ll forget about you,’ someone told him, he couldn’t find the air to scream. _Kick out the taillights, his brain told him. You have to kick, just kick them out and you’ll get free._ _It’ll be over soon, and it’ll be daytime._ ‘They put you here to forget.’

Prompto’s legs were tied together, he couldn’t feel the rope, but he knew it anyways. He didn’t even try to move, somehow, he could tell Noctis was disappointed, that he’d forgotten something important.

‘For the King and Crown,’ he gasped. It was a code, the words meant something he knew they did. ‘The King and Crown. Noctis.’

The space was shrinking, squeezing around him, he was underground. Tied up and left in a hole in the middle of nowhere nobody knew about. His gaze flickered to a chair beside him.

Noctis shook his head, ‘when are you going to wake up?’

The room was filling with water now, Prompto gasped an apology, but Noctis was standing and casting a sad look his way before heading towards the ladder. If he left he wouldn’t come back, he’d forget Prompto was here. Prompto writhed and found his hands had never been tied at all, the water slipped over his head and-

 

 

 

He gasped, jolting awake on a cold concrete floor.

“There he is,” something twisted in his hair, yanked his head up so sharply he squeaked and his eyes watered. His eyes weren’t focusing, he was still heaving on cold, biting air trying desperately to find his bearings. “Have a nice nap?”

The hand threw his head down, his temple smacked against the floor drawing a garbled moan of pain from him. _Right he was. He’d been._

Training exercise, dammit, and they’d caught him staring at snowflakes like a dummy. He could have smacked his head back on the concrete in self directed frustration already. Noctis was probably losing his shit laughing behind a one-way mirror somewhere.

“Get him in the chair,” a voice barked, everything was echoing strangely, like there was too much space around them. A pair of hands yanked him up, his legs felt like noodles as he scrambled weakly against them. _Shit, the cloth, and._ Prompto swallowed, blinked hard and prayed for the world to stop spinning for a moment. Don’t forget, too many hands were holding him, pinning his wrists and his ankles.

Something closed around his neck and for a moment he was in the trunk, a fist caught him in the gut and stole the air he’d managed to recapture. Another one caught him in the ribs and he could feel the slight give like an electric shock. He gurgled something intelligibly and a fist curled back in his hair and yanked.

Then, everything stopped. Prompto was probably hyperventilating at this point, the sudden ceasefire throwing him off even further. Cor’s voice floated through his brain, something about not getting overwhelmed, about mind games.

_Well, failed step one._

He hadn’t really expected them to get physically violent for some reason, he’d maybe assumed it would be more of a psychological thing. But, okay, he’d practiced with Gladio enough, he could take a punch. Big guy had even complimented him on his pain tolerance once, though, that might have been an insult now that he thought about it.

“Oh, oh you poor thing,” a voice cooed, Prompto’s eyes were squeezed closed, when had he closed them? There was a woman across from him, eyes all wide and round like she was apologetic from behind a thick white mask. Painted lips were frozen in a smile that was all predatory, Prompto’s heart leapt. “You know, you’re awfully young. We typically don’t play with toys as easy to break as you, what a shame really.” She was glancing at her nails, the hand in his hair twisted and he gasped again. “Gosh, and you’ve only been awake for a grand total of, what, thirty seconds? Might have to nix our more entertaining plans or this’ll be over way too soon.” Distantly Prompto felt twin trails of heat on his cheeks, and the embarrassment almost made him forget this was meant to be serious.

 _Over too soon? Gods,_ Prompto clenched his jaw, he was going to fail. He was crying already, they were probably ticking off so many boxes of infractions. Cor had said it was okay to cry though, right? He probably hadn’t meant immediately after getting roughed up slightly _. Astrals, this was pathetic._ He squeezed his eyes closed again for a second, and breathed out slow.

Maybe he was a little terrified, maybe this was a lot to process at once, but he could do this. For Noct, it was a training exercise anyways, so it wasn’t like they’d kill him or anything. Just a little pain, which was fine, he could do pain.

“Prompto Argentum,” the lady leaned forwards, full on grinning under the mask, he was sure. Prompto wondered where they’d found her. He would have remembered her from training, someone with the kind of intense eyes that made your spine want to physically crawl out of your body. That was probably the point though, either way she was a very convincing actress.

“You probably know what I’m going to say, right? Something from one of those dramatic action movies about going easy on you if you tell us what we want to know, but,” she winked, Prompto’s head hurt. “I’m not really a fan of that whole routine. How about,” she stood up, sauntering slowly around him like a couerl, he could practically feel the warning electrical charge in the air. She tapped his chin, the fist loosening in his hair enough for her to tilt his face towards her.

“Tell us what we want to know, and I promise you a quick death.”

Okay, _what? Where were the breaks on this thing? Shiva’s tits._

“Let’s start with something easy. How do you know Prince Noctis?”

Prompto met her eyes, he knew this part, “Prompto Argentum, Lucian citizen and Crownsguard. For King and for Crown.”

She made a sad pouting sound, the plastic lips smiled at him, _score one for Argentum._ “Can’t even answer the easy stuff we already know? Well,” she turned away, gesturing with a flick of her wrist. “boys, you know what to do then. Give our new friend a warm welcome, hm?”

Prompto was suddenly made aware of the small group of men lurking beside him, outside of the faint ring of light like phantoms. All white expressionless masks and wide shoulders.

_Argentum-1 Everyone else- infinite._

He gulped. _Alright, time for the real show._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings here for some torture/ drowning type a' stuff. Gets a bit intense from here on out so keep that in mind! I promise though, I'd never kill off my favorite blonde boy, so there's that at least.

Prompto Argentum was reported officially missing at 2:30am the day after he was meant to undergo an exercise as a part of Crownsguard Training.

He had been told to wait at a specific location; a team of senior Crownsguard were sent to the area to pick him up and have him run through a supervised interrogation simulation to test his loyalty and weak points. Basic stuff, really. Plop the kid in a chair, turn a bright light on him, shout threatening things and imply even more threatening stuff, and at the most rough him up just enough to make him nervous. With a kid like Prompto, who's mind clearly ran in overdrive twenty four seven concocting even more horrifying realities than the guards themselves could ever come up with, they figured all they'd have to do would be glare angrily and the job would sort itself out. The guards sent to grab him had unanimously decided amongst themselves, however, that none of them wanted to incur the wrath of the Prince’s Shield- and by extension the Prince himself- by genuinely harming the kid in anyway. They’d played a very intense round of rock paper scissors beforehand, to decide who would be the one to have to put a hood over Argentum’s head and throw him in the vehicle, as none of them wanted to be responsible for any bruises the Prince might find later on.

Argentum was a brave and strong volunteer, probably, and he might have passed all on his own, but the Prince had already relocated three different guards to patrol duty last month for going ‘a little rough’ on Argentum during training. They'd all had enough of that. No one liked patrol duty. Especially not in the winter.

They’d all decided to be as gentle as physically possible while still following procedure, some of them whispering loudly that the kid would likely break anyways, even with the extra soft setting. They'd conjured up a rather hilarious mental image of Argentum shivering and cracking immediately the second they arrived, when they’d rolled up to the set location and found nothing but quickly fading footprints in the snow.

Alitus, or Atty as his friends knew him, was a big fan of Prompto, genuinely. He saw himself in the bright enthusiastic need to impress, and the gangly stumbling way the kid held himself outside of firearms training. He liked that Prompto took criticism as a stepping stone rather than an insult. He’d walked in and found the kid training long after everyone had left and long before training started up again the next morning more times than he could count. Prompto was dedication to a ‘T’, a good fit for Crownsguard through and through. 

Plus, the kid had guts, signing onto something like the Prince’s personal guard, having no prior experience whatsoever in combat? That was brave. And dumb, but mostly brave.

When the other guards started snickering and laughing that Argentum had finally chickened out, that the kid running home crying was an even funnier mental image than the one they'd thought of, Alitus got out of the car.

“I knew he was going to run home with his tail between his legs one day,” Rufus snickered. “Didn’t expect him to make it to round two honestly, I’ll give him that.”

“He was going to fail out anyways, maybe he figured it out?”

“Do you think the Prince is going to have a shit fit over this?” One asked, laughing and then abruptly not laughing at all. They all gulped.

Alitus bent down closer to the snow.

“It’s not our fault his best friend wasn’t tough enough! Can’t yell at us for that.”

“Bet he’ll find a way, anyways.” Rufus muttered. "Say we didn't give him a fair shot or --" 

“Hey,” Alitus called, whirling back towards them. “Something’s wrong here.”

Rufus frowned, heaving a withering sigh, “look Atty, we know you had a soft spot for the kid but-“

“No,” he shook his head, heart thumping louder as his thoughts coalesced and reached a terrible crescendo. “No, look at this, he was here. That’s a hand print. Prom-Argentum fell over, maybe. Why’d he fall over? Already odd, right? But that,” he gestured to a long divot in the quickly piling snow. “What does that look like to you?”

Rufus squinted, then blinked his eyes wide. "Ifrit's balls." 

Alitus dragged his gaze along the trailing divots in the snow, all the way to a pair of tire tracks and the faint impression in the air of burning rubber.

“Call Clarus,” Rufus called. “Argentum’s been taken.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

There were three times in Cor’s life he could remember being genuinely worried. The first two had occurred in the heat of a battle, so they hardly counted, and the third had been at approximately 5:15 that morning. He’d been saddling up for a long day of overseeing wannabe egotists who understood nothing of what giving your life for the crown genuinely meant, when Clarus had called.

He’d picked up the phone, listened to a grand total of three words, before feeling oddly detatched from himself and sinking all at once.

“Argentum’s gone missing,” Clarus said.

“Oh,” Cor replied. “Shit,” he added, helpfully.

“Indeed,” Clarus agreed. “Fetch Prince Noctis and meet us in Regis’ office.”

He hit hang up with a thumb, distantly aware he was ditching training without so much as a word. "Take over," he barked over his shoulder, someone would probably take that as an order. Not that he really cared. Not like they’d fire him anyways.

Cor didn’t get sentimental, it was part of his job not to. He fought and survived so that he could fight to survive some more. He trained other doe eyed kids for battles they all hoped would never be fought. He travelled to awful looming places, said goodbye more often than ‘nice to see you again’, and tried to not think about any of it after he hung his work jacket up at night.

But Cor also remembered a tiny, freckled, wriggling infant, floating in a blue case in the middle of inky nothing. He remembered the way those big blue eyes had stared up at him in awe, the way he’d bundled the thin blonde head close and never so much as heard a whine or a hiccup. So maybe, he had one soft spot. He was getting old.

_Prompto’s been kidnapped. We don’t know where he is, or who took him. He never showed up for the practice drill, Alitus found a set of footprints and tire tracks._

_It’s been 9 hours._

Yesterday Argentum had been all bright eyes and pink cheeked pride. Two days ago, he’d slapped the kid on the back with a stern “good work” and Prompto had been nearly in tears with relief.

Cor had been held prisoner, once. He remembered enough to have vivid nightmarish mental concoctions of what the kid would be going through over the span of 9 long hours. He remembered telling Prompto about the ways interrogators played into your fears and cracked open your mind, he remembered thinking he was only going easy because he didn’t want to scare the kid badly enough he’d chicken out.

A Crownsguard member with panicked breaths met him outside the Council room, “do you think he’s alright, sir?” The guy was young, earnest eyes. He had a brief vision of Prompto looking at him with the same expression as he’d slid his recommendation for training over. Uncertainty and too much hope.

Prompto was likely either dead, or wishing he was, that was the truth.

 _We don’t know where he is._ Clarus had said.  _We have no leads._

No leads meant no demands, which meant this wasn't a hostage situation. Which meant they had nothing to lose and everything to gain from tearing the kid apart piece by piece. Everyone cracked eventually, and then they'd have no reason to keep him anymore. If he hadn't already. 

“Of course,” he said gruffly, instead, and ignored the way his throat burned at his own words. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Somewhere between being dragged by his hair again, an excruciatingly painful experience he no longer felt any embarrassment for crying over, and being dunked face first in icy water, Prompto started to get a little scared.

He knew Crownsguard was a serious occupation, and that a lot of people doubted him on principle of his scrawniness and general klutzy stumbling. He’d heard the whispers and seen the foul looks some of the trainees sent him, and how they all assumed he was only passing because he was friends with the Prince. Nothing he hadn’t experienced twice over in high school, so it was mostly not worth more than an eyeroll.

He did worry though, that maybe they were right. That no one wanted to say no to Noct so they just passed Prompto through to rid themselves of the problem, that he’d get his uniform and stand in front of the King and know he wasn’t good enough. That there was a weak link in Noct’s defenses and he’d be putting his best friend in the entire world in danger just by taking up space someone better trained could fit. But, Noct wanted him there, he’d chosen Prompto and no one else. Prompto just had to be better, that was all.

The second time his face was pushed into the icy, murky water and held there long enough his vision started hollowing out and the panic instincts set in, he managed to twist enough to dislocate one of the guys’ arms.

The near drowning had wiped all of his strength, though, so even after he came up gasping and coughing, the guy howling on the floor and no one close enough to grab Prompto for at least two seconds, he could do little more than glare and spit out “for King and Crown, asshole.”

Maybe not standard protocol, he’d probably lose points for it also, but he was a little freaked out by how far they were all taking this. Maybe they were just trying to take out their frustrations on him now, when Noctis wasn’t nearby to stop them. Maybe Noctis wasn’t watching behind a mirror, he couldn’t be, really, because there was no way he’d let any of this happen if he were.

 _It didn’t matter though_ , Prompto thought, shakily wheezing on the freezing cement. _He could do this, he’d prove them all wrong. For Noct. It had to end soon, right?_

Two of the nameless guys grabbed him, and pulled him back to the shallow icy bathtub and he tried to kick out enough to trip one of them, maybe give himself a half second to stabilize his breathing enough to not pass out. The first guy appeared in his vision instead, though. His neck mottled red and purple with anger and probably pain from the tensed look around his eyes. Prompto would have winced in sympathy, maybe, if he’d had the second to exist outside of pure survival mode. Dislocating a superior’s arm had to be bad, he guessed. Probably embarrassing for the guy too, if Cor or one of the other marshals were really watching all of this.

“I’m going to love breaking you,” the guy spat, masked face blank, and grabbed his arm and twisted.

Prompto had dislocated his shoulder, once, as a kid. He was clumsy and not very good at knowing how to coordinate his long limbs when his growth spurt hit him like a truck. He’d been trying to impress Noct, or make him laugh, or prove him wrong, one of the typical excuses. Climbing up a tree just to prove he could, that Noct could only do it with his warping powers but Prompto was in fact, the better Spider-man, thank you.

Noct had been sitting primly on a branch high up, watching him and snorting with laughter at Prompto’s over dramatic sound effects and near misses. Prompto had finally made it up to his branch with a pleased crow of victory, and they both had paused to take in their surroundings with matching grins. It was one of Prompto’s favorite memories, actually. The picture he’d snapped right before the branch broke under their combined weight was one he treasured, tucked carefully in a plastic pocket of his scrapbook. Noctis’ genuine smile, eyes closed in happy crescents, nose crinkled in a laugh, sunlight dancing across his face. Prompto only allowed himself to think on the hop-scotch skip in his chest when he saw that picture, just for a moment, before he closed it up and put it away again.

Prompto had tried to tuck himself underneath the Prince, so he’d land first and hopefully cushion Noct from any real damage- Gladio would straight up murder him if anything happened to his charge at school because of him, and this had been entirely because of him. Noct of course had warped away from their tumble just fine, landing on his feet like a damned cat. Prompto had landed directly on his shoulder, jarring it with a disgusting snap. Apparently been lucky he hadn’t broken his entire arm.

He'd whited out with pain a little when it had happened. Afterwards he only remembered Noct’s worried eyes and his hands patting like nervous butterfly wings too carefully against his cheeks to keep him from passing out.

Back then, he’d been immediately swept to the nurses’ office, carted off with Ignis after a frantic phone call from Noctis, and mended up in no time with the crown’s particular brand of super powered healing mumbo jumbo. Prompto had spent the next day being fretted over by Noctis who would stop apologizing for some strange reason, feeling more loved than he’d ever been in his life.

Angry purple guy grabbed his chin as the shocks of pain laced down and back up his arm and Prompto panted open mouthed, blank except an animalistic need to get the hell away.

“Again,” he said, and Prompto forgot to catch his breath at all.

 

 

 

 

Prompto figured he was probably still close to failing, what with all the sobbing he was unable to stop himself from resorting to. He hadn’t said anything yet, though. Other than ‘stop’, once, he’d only repeated the phrase Cor had drilled into his head. His brain was a bunch of muggy half thoughts, his tongue felt like cotton, and he wouldn’t stop shivering, but he hadn’t told them anything.

“Who are the two guards he has with him? Just give us a name. Just one and I won’t dunk you back under.”

“How does the warping magic work? Is there a way to turn it off?”

“If we sent them a video of your messy, crying face, do you think they’d bother with you at all? Should we just keep you here forever?”

“What makes you so important to the Prince, huh? Pathetic kid like you?”

“Think anyone would care if we left you hear to freeze?”

Some of the questions raised strange bells in the back of his mind, something about the way they phrased things, like ‘warping magic’, or when the Scary Lady asked when they started letting kids into the ‘King’s personal guard’. Between the rounds of beatings, and ice water, and the increasingly painful positions they tied his injured arm in, Prompto didn’t have room to think much.

“’Dunno,” he croaked, his head hung limply, chin against his bruised chest.

“Hmm? What was that, sweetie?” Her hand pulled his head back up, gods he was getting real tired of them all grabbing him by the face.

“Said. ‘Dunno. Why you even bother.” He couldn’t even swallow, he was sure he couldn’t have been here longer than a few hours, it was still dark out he thought, but time was getting strange around the edges and there was no light in the cement nothingness around them. Near drowning was weird, he decided. He’d never been so thirsty in his life.

Prompto managed to flop his head to the side enough to escape her touch. “Not gunna. Tell you. Fro Kind and for-”

Her sigh felt angrier, Prompto felt a small burst of pride knowing he’d managed to tire out her amusement with everything. “Don’t play dumb, boy.” She cut in, “we know who you are, remember?”

 _Of course you know who I am,_ Prompto could have rolled his eyes _._ Even for acting that was just _dumb._

“We know who your parents are, where you work, everyone you’ve ever come in contact with. It’s not noble to stay quiet, you’d only be protecting one person and risking a hundred.”

 _Who his parents…?_   Something… wasn’t right here, he knew. Little bits and pieces that screamed at him like neon signs his eyes couldn’t manage to focus on. His parents weren’t home, at all. They had a summer house they thought Prompto didn’t know about and they worked the rest of the time. Prompto maybe saw them twice a year and not at the same time, and they never said where they would be traveling to next. Prompto held their last name hand in hand with his and _he_ didn’t even know where they were. They weren’t in Insomnia to even threaten, let alone be relevant.

The smack echoed around the room before Prompto felt it, a sharp sting against his bruised and swollen cheek. “It’s awfully rude to ignore someone when they’re talking to you,” she glared at him. Prompto’s shoulder sent electric sparks through him and his blinks felt slightly too slow.

He wondered if he was going into shock. Iggy always used that word while dissecting soap operas. ‘ _They’d be in shock already, this is horribly inaccurate,_ ’ he’d mutter while stirring sauce for dinner perhaps slightly too aggressively. He’d always meant to ask why Ignis insisted on watching every new episode if he hated it so much, but he’d been too afraid to get in between. Ignis recorded every episode daily, it was probably best to leave sleeping cactaurs lie and all.

He was cold, maybe that was shock. Then again, icy water and a winter climate probably meant he was closer to getting hypothermia. His fingers felt too warm, and achey, which, as a guy who wore fingerless gloves all the time, usually meant something bad.

_At least they’d let him keep his gloves._

He couldn’t be though, they’d pull the plug on this training exercise if he was actually in danger. Prompto was just being a wuss. A little bit of cold and he was already losing it, sheesh. It would be over soon, probably. He just had to focus on the phrase he was supposed to say, and not passing out.

“Maybe you need a round with our extra special toy, loosen that tongue of yours a little.” The nameless guys grabbed his arms again, dragging him up from the chair by his armpits, making him gasp at the sickly grinding in his shoulder. _Don’t throw up_ , he told himself. _Do not throw up._

The ‘toy’ as it turned out, was a metal fence sectioning off a back portion of the empty warehouse. Half rusted and curled inwards like a wilting flower. It looked like a cocoon almost, like a spider’s web they could stick him to and wrap him up in.

They pushed him up against it harshly, and yanked his bound arms upwards, the motion nearly made him white out entirely. He was pretty sure his shoulder wasn’t supposed to bend like that, or hurt as much as it did. There was something about dislocating joints and causing damage, he remembered. Lucky that he was in the hands of professionals, then. They probably knew exactly how far they could push before wounds genuinely turned unfixable. He just had to grit his teeth harder and definitely _not throw up._

Angry guy was back, his shoulder wrapped in a sling and still looking angry as ever. Prompto was maybe a little bit smug he’d managed to hurt one of them, he liked to think Gladio would be too. Poor guy was going to get in a lot of trouble no doubt the second Noct found out about this. He almost felt a little bad.

Scary lady kicked a small box across the floor, it had two long ropes hanging off it that dragged noisily behind and echoed around Prompto’s ears. She was smiling, he could see it in the squint of her eyes. The painted lips taunted him, and he decided he really, really, hated her mask.  

“Hook him up,” she winked at him, and with a sharp turn clicked her boots back down the dark hall.

Hook him up? That sounded almost fun, like a casual thing Noct would say while shrugging his direction, granting him some cool new gadget he definitely couldn’t afford. _‘That’s what friends do’_ he’d say, pushing a thousand-dollar camera lens towards him, _‘just take it Prom. I want you to have it.’_   And Prompto would have to pretend it wasn’t the nicest thing he’d ever owned and worth more than his entire apartment, knowing Noctis would never let him pay him back.

“This is going to hurt, a lot.” Angry guy growled.

Prompto did roll his eyes. Regretted it almost immediately when his vision spun. Cheesy lines were really ruining the whole vibe of a kidnapping. Jeeze, one thing he’d have to mention to Cor when he finished up- and hopefully passed, _oh gods_ \- was maybe getting a new writer to finesse some of these dialogue options a little. They bordered an awful lot on dangerously cliched, kinda ruined the whole ‘fearing for your life’ immersion. Well, they would have, if his shoulder wasn’t a constant searing and nauseating hellscape.

He had a witty retort on the tip of his tongue- something absolutely devastating that would have made Angry guy burst into tears or blink in wounded shock, or at the least turn red with anger again- but then Angry Guy held up a series of wires with a particularly nasty smirk and the confusion won out over anything humorous.

“So, this is weird.” He managed, even making himself sound half snarky as Angry guy pasted on a series of thin wires across his temples. Prompto also realized he was missing his shirt somewhere around Angry guy sticking a few wires to his ribs. That just seemed kind of rude, then again, it was probably a mental thing. Making a captive feel more exposed and all.

Prompto hadn’t been shirtless in front of anyone basically ever, so, kudos to these guys for finding that particular weak point. He wondered how he hadn’t noticed his lack of shirt, or when they’d taken it off. Maybe he had passed out and hadn’t realized. That was an unsettling thought, being even more vulnerable and not knowing. Especially if he didn’t know how long he’d been out, what if he’d been here more than a few hours? What if it was light out and he just couldn’t see? His mind skittered away from the idea like it was a hot stove.

Angry guy laughed low in his throat. “This is the part where I’m supposed to ask you one last time to talk,” he finished whatever weird masterpiece he was attempting to create, making extra certain to pull on Prompto’s bad arm before stepping back, “but I’d really just rather watch you squirm.”

Prompto’s nose wrinkled. _Come on man, really._

Angry guy just smirked at him, before crouching down to the strange little box and fiddling with some sort of dial on the side. “Boss would say I should start on low, make you really anticipate how much worse it’ll keep getting.” He shrugged. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

He flicked something on the side and Prompto regretted opening his mouth to retort because his jaw clamped shut instantly, clicking with a painful jolt. Followed then by every other muscle in his body, and then by a roaring inferno of absolute agony as every single one of his nerves lurched and spasmed at once.

Everything cramped, everything _hurt,_ the fire cut off almost as soon as it had started but Prompto was reeling a thousand miles up in space trying to figure out what in Shiva had just happened. He was panting, staccato little hiccups of air and he didn’t have the presence of mind to hold his head up, or try to reach out with his feet to take the pressure off his shoulder. His brain kept running in confused little limping circles.

“Oh, that _was_ fun,” someone was laughing. “You know, if you give us anything at all, like the Prince’s cellphone number. His favorite restaurant. A wifi password. I could make this end. Easy as that.”

_His phone uses a special carrier, it only connects with numbers cleared by the council. He doesn’t eat out, Iggy makes him everything. GladioSux420._

“F-for.” He was drooling, that was gross. “King a-and Crown.”

“You wanna try that again? Last chance, I can drag this out for years if I have to, kid.”

Noct wanted him to do this, Noct needed him to be in his personal guard. He was going to pass, he was going to do this right. He wouldn’t let Noct down.

“K-king and Crown. For King and Crown. Prom-Prompto Argentum. Crownsguard. For King and. For C-crown.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Prompto lifted his head up enough, just enough to lob a wad of spit at the big meaty jerks masked face. He saw the guy yank a dial again, and then the fire was back, a sharp sting in his mouth, and he faded out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Noctis was having a bad day.

First, he’d been woken up too early, unreasonably early in fact. By Ignis, too. Which meant for all of his moaning and glaring he’d still get Iggy’s unphased and unimpressed arched brow and he’d still likely have to get up.

Second, it was cold. Which meant all his favorite old muscle aches and back pains would be flaring up for the next indefinite forever.

Third, he didn’t even have Prom to complain to or to distract himself from his twinging back because he was off completing phase two of his training. Not that anyone would tell him exactly what phase two was. Prompto would kick its ass though, whenever it was over.

Ignis had said it might take a few days, and that Prom was completely unavailable during that time. He’d sighed and played it off like it was no big deal but, honestly, ‘a few days off the grid’ was a little unnerving. Noct hadn’t been forcibly unable to so much as text Prompto basically since they’d become friends; he felt slightly off-kilter waking up without a single picture of a dog from Prom’s stupidly early morning jog.

Fourth, and most awful, he was stuck going over reports with Ignis and the council all morning. And then training with Gladio all afternoon.

Usually he hated days that were scheduled to the brim with various stiff, fake smile and nod encounters, but they were always excruciating when the sneaking tidbits of stasis started creeping though. Not like he could take a sick day without actually being viscerally sick though; bad for the crown’s reputation if the Prince begged off too many meetings. The winter was likely to be full of stasis days anyways, as the crystal chafed off bits and pieces of him and his father.

By the third hour of forcing himself to sit still despite the bone deep ache twisting up and down his spine, to nod and smile on cue and definitely not grimace or yawn Noctis, honestly, he was about ready to warp out of the window. He was desperately trying to determine if he could get away with a stretch if he played it off like a dramatic arm wave, because clearly, discussions on reparations on the east wing of the Citadel’s central hallway required that kind of emphasis, when the doors burst open.

A Crownsguard Noctis vaguely remembered seeing at Prompto’s initiation, one of the few that patted Prom on the back encouragingly instead of sneering and therefore definitively off Noct’s internal shit list, stood wide eyed and unblinking. Usually a signal for something Bad.

Then Cor stepped in alongside. Bad shifted immediately into catastrophic, Noctis’ chest tightened immediately.

“Marshal?” Ignis started to stand, Cor held up a hand.

“Apologies for the interruption, the King requested I escort the Prince to His office.”

Noct was already standing, pained back muscles forgotten. “Wait, what? Why? Did he-“

“Afraid I can’t divulge the matter at hand, presently. Please follow me, Highness.” Cor levelled him with a look that made Noct instinctively take a step forwards, he blinked as Ignis coughed gently.

“Oh, um. Excuse me, esteemed council. I must uh, take my leave. Apparently,” He nodded stiffly, and walked as briskly as Ignis would possibly allow towards the exit.

Typically, a meeting cut short would be cause for immediate celebration, or at least a relieved full-bodied flop against his memory foam laden extra-large bed. Cor’s frown was ominous, though; something about the telegraphed panic in the Crownsguard escorting him made Noctis itchy. Like something was horribly awry, like the bad feeling he’d had since he woke up this morning wasn’t just about the cold at all.

“What’s going on?” He asked Ignis, distantly aware of the tremor in his own voice. Ignis knew everything about everyone though, right? Iggy’s jaw clenched, his laser focus stuck straight ahead on the Marshal’s back ahead of them.

“I’m…. not sure,” Ignis replied stiffly. “I fear…” he trailed off.

Noct swallowed roughly, “fear what?”

Ignis met his eyes briefly, the slight wince of his expression made Noctis think he already knew the answer.

Prompto had a special knack for worming his way into people’s hearts. Noct had never found anyone in school interesting, all of them just stared and got nervous and asked him too many blatantly fake questions that might as well have broadcasted money signs in their eyes. Then Prompto stumbled along, smacked him on the shoulders and smiled at him with a million-watt grin that was all dimples and the kind of genuine happiness nobody could fake, and Noctis suddenly had a friend.

Ignis’ job was of course to be suspicious, especially of anyone getting close to the Prince with potentially dubious intentions, and he’d been iffy about Prompto for longer than Noct would have liked. He was apparently ‘suspiciously average’, which Noctis forced himself to believe was a compliment and would never, ever, repeat those words to Prompto even under threat. The guy had self esteem issues taller than Insomnia’s wall, already.

Gladio had said he looked like a punk at first, even tried to pull the whole crossed arms and intimidation schtick- something Prompto had never entirely gotten over much to Noct’s distaste and exasperation. Then Gladio saw Prompto animatedly discussing his favorite alien/robot arcade game and quickly shifted to a fond huffing ‘nerd’ title instead. Prompto was just that genuine. Genuinely a giant dork, at least.

Noct watched Ignis’ expression minutely shift from concern to sorrow to something resembling panic, and he knew Prom had managed to worm past Ignis’ steel wall of indifference as well.

Prompto had better be alright, Noctis thought distractedly, or Ignis’ sheer mass of paperwork and political etiquette will hit the whole Crownsguard like the fist of Titan himself.  It was nice to think Prompto had more support than he probably realized. It was impossible not to love the guy, a punishable offense almost.

Noct’s hands twitched at his side in a way that was decidedly not stasis acting up.

King Regis, Clarus and Gladio were waiting for them when they arrived during what felt like the longest walk of his life. His dad was frowning, a pained and sad sort of way that meant it wasn’t just the crystal today. That was the frown he had every year on the Tenebrea disaster’s anniversary. It meant something awful that not even the King himself could resolve.

Noct’s mouth went dry, his palms felt clammy suddenly.

“Your Majesty,” Cor nodded, he looked tense too. Noctis had seen a lot more of the Immortal lately, he was overseeing the new recruit’s training- a move that surprised much of the council at first. Cor wasn’t typically a hands-on kind of guy, or a sentimental one. Or a people person, really. Noct had always found Cor to be stone-like, all dry humour and expressionless unimpressed bland statements. Until recently, at least.

Cor’s shoulders were harsh angles, his fists clenched so hard Noct could see white circles on his knuckles. He was actually frowning, his lips ever so slightly downturned. All of these were terrible, terrible signs. Gladio gave Noct a darkly ominous glance before looking away, standing at attention at Clarus’ side. Noctis felt himself reeling already, heart thumping too loud in the silent room.

The other Crownsguard, Noct thought his name was Atty maybe, something with an A, had his lips pressed so tightly together his mouth was just a thin line against his pale face. Gladio looked about ready to kill something.

Noct pulled his gaze back to his father, feeling a strange swirling desperate thing cloying around his heart.

_“Where is he?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the kind comments and support!! Sorry I haven't gotten around to replying yet, but I super appreciate em all! If you wanna talk about poor prompto and the Boys feel free to hit me up over on twitter or tumblr @clankclunk ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a bit longer purely because of all the kind comments- I'd planned to end this on a more ambiguous note but you're all so sweet I wanted to make sure the ending matched! It might be a lil cheesy though, oops. 
> 
> Thank you to all y'all for your support and super heartwarming messages, this fandom makes my heart tender and soft. Can't believe it's been a whole year honestly - hopefully this is a good anniversary gift haha!

 

Prompto figured he was either extremely close to passing the exercise, or extremely close to failing by the fourth round of muscle spasm hell. He’d passed out for a bit, immediately been woken up by an awful smelling package, and then knocked out two more times with increasing agony.

He had never been in so much pain in his life.

His bad shoulder was a constant throbbing mess or grinding bones and something that felt like it was near snapping, his muscles twitched and cramped constantly, and he’d bitten through his lip at some point if the warmth then cold on his chin was anything to go by.  He’d cried, screamed, thrown up, and cried some more all a handful of times.

But he hadn’t talked.

He’d felt close, once. The third time they’d woken him up he’d been so dazed and hurting he’d whimpered a small _‘please’_ , regretting it immediately with the way the Angry Guy leaned in close and laughed.

“What was that, cupcake? Ready to cooperate now? Knew you’d break eventually.”

He'd managed a weak disgusted noise and counted that as his win for the day. Or hour. Time was a little bendy around the edges. 

Prompto’s body was a writhing live wire of absolute agony, every part of his skin felt burnt and uncomfortable, his head throbbed, and gods, he wanted to sleep _so bad._ Every time he passed into blissful unawareness they’d just dragged him back not even moments later.

He’d woken up with a sob this time, jolting out of a dream where he'd been wrapped up in Noct's arms and far, far away from here. It was beyond cruel, seeing the white mask and gasping on ice water two seconds after being so sure he was free. Angry Guy laughed, all malevolence and pure devious intention, and jerked the dial higher. "Fff-" Prompto gasped, and bit down on his already ruined lip. 

His brain ejected, the frantic need to be anywhere but here overwhelming him, as Angry Guy leaned in close while he writhed out of his own volition, and pressed hard on the concave gap where his shoulder had been.  Desperate to escape the all-encompassing pain on some primal level, he moaned long and wordlessly and fell back into his own daydreamed reality. 

This was probably, actually hell. He'd probably died and this was his punishment for all of the bad jokes he'd made in his life, for all the times he wasn't good enough. Angry Guy taunted him somewhere distantly, something more about bargains and promises and it would be so great, at this point, to just fade out and slip away and be done with it.

But he wouldn’t talk, he wouldn’t break. He _wouldn’t._

“Prompto Argentum, Lucian citizen. Crownsguard. For King and for Crown.” He felt his dry lips moving, felt the sharp sting of his ruined lower lip, but his brain was somewhere far away. Autopilot owned the show now. Floaty cotton candy slowly swirled into the crevices of his brain, pushing the aches and stings far away, somewhere he could ignore. His mind drifted, remembering the carnival Noct and him had visited last year. How the rollercoaster had made him feel completely weightless just for a moment before the drop came. Everything was weightless now, like he was intangible. Like he was a ghost and the pain was beyond him now.

Abruptly, ice water dumped all over him, jolting him from his stupor and gods, he almost cried _again_. There was the drop, every rollercoaster had the drop. He hated drops.

  
“I thought you said he was just a school friend?” Angry guy sounded bewildered, ever so slightly, or maybe it was Prompto’s hopeful imagination. The drill had to be over soon, he was sure of it, maybe they were finally impressed enough that they’d stop. Gods, he just wanted it _to stop_.

“He _is,_ no formal training. Obviously, you’re not trying hard enough.” Another voice hissed back. Prompto bemoaned the idea of trying harder, then decided it was all relatively bad anyways. Trying harder would probably mean snippy comebacks, like Cor would do. Or threatening dark stares and smirks, like Gladio. Prompto was just Prompto, he could only hang by his wrists and his aching shoulder and try to breathe. 

“Don’t need you drifting off on us there, sweetheart,” Scary Lady was back, Prompto smacked his head back on the chains and felt tears leak out of the corners of his eyes. Not even one moment, one second to reorient himself, one minute of stillness so he could get his feet under him. He had no idea how long it had been, they hadn’t stopped once so far. It felt like days, years even. It also felt like moments, like he’d been in this warehouse all his life and dreamt everything else, but also as if he’d just woken up.

He thought for one frantic instant, that he couldn’t take it. That he’d break despite all his best efforts, despite how badly he wanted to pass, to do this for Noct. He hadn’t anticipated any of this, foolishly. Not the burning or the genuine torture or the smirks and the way they all kept _grabbing his face_.

_It had to stop soon, it had to. Right?_

“Why are you fighting so hard, sweetie? What could one spoiled Prince really mean to you? It’s not like he’s even noticed you’re missing, has he? It’s been days, you know. And yet, you’re still here with me and no one’s interrupted,” she clicked her tongue, running her thumb faux caringly across his cheek with a pout. “In fact, no ones come looking for you at all. Almost like you don’t matter to anyone out there, poor thing. So why fight us? Why not tell us how to make the Prince regret leaving you behind.”

Something in him switched, went cold and stopped.

Noct was a lot of things, whiny maybe. Constantly, perpetually lazy, sure. Bratty, on occasion. But he was also incredibly kind, and generous; he worried about everyone, about whether he could do more. He was brave, and selfless, and sweet. When he smiled it was everything, starlight and sunshine and warm toes on cold nights. Noct was so, so selfless, too. He never had ever asked Prompto for anything in return, not for everything he was always granting Prompto. Not for his time or the hugs or the friendship Prompto held so closely late at night and tarnished with all his aching cravings.

Noct had never asked him for anything. Except this, Noctis had asked him for _this._

“For King.” He spoke evenly, hissing through his teeth.

For the first time since waking up cold and confused, he felt like he’d finally landed on his feet. His lips curved up in a smirk, as the woman’s hooked downwards in a scowl. _For Gladio_ , he thought. He met the masked woman’s furious eyes coldly, unblinkingly. _For Ignis,_ he thought. He breathed long and slow. “And for Noctis.”

Prompto revelled in his newfound pride for all of exactly twelve seconds, before the woman grabbed his bad arm roughly, and _pulled_. Prompto felt something snap, a delayed riptide of fire blossoming outwards, and he screamed.

“Tell us what we want to know, sunshine.” She was twisting his arm now, every gasping breath he managed was pushed back out in agonized yells. She jerked her head towards the nameless guy waiting in the wings and something hard cracked into his shin, he yowled, low and desperate. He could feel her lips against his ear, beyond the haze of pain he almost felt his skin crawl.

“Just give up, or you’ll rot here you know. Slowly, we’ll make sure it’s slow. Tell us what we want, and I’ll make it all end.”

Prompto’s eyes were streaming, his mouth hanging open as a low whine pulled from somewhere beyond his control. “N-no,” he wheezed.

“No?” Her fingers dug into a divot, a concave where his shoulder should be, somehow the fire spiked even hotter. Something was keening, high pitched and completely animalistic. Angry Guy threw a kick at his leg, the other one reared back with a metal pipe and swung again.

“No-noctis,” Prompto gasped. “For Noct.” He couldn’t see anymore, his sight lost beyond the sheer magnitude of awful sensations ripping through him, from the chafing of the rope against his wrists to the bruises lining every part of his chest and on the inside where his muscles still felt cramped and burnt. His leg, bent somewhere in the middle, his arm twisted grotesquely. He’d never been super flexible, could never touch the middle of his back to get the weird placed itches. Noct always had to do it for him, huffing and complaining but secretly super talented at scratching the exact right spots with the exact right amount of pressure. Was it weird to be reminiscing on his best friends back scratches? Gods, would he ever get to tell Noct he was really good at back scratches? The thought was strangely unbearable, a cold fear washed over him amidst everything else.

His hand spasmed against his middle back. _Huh,_ a thought spun passed him, fading out. _That’s probably not good. Hey, maybe this is going a little too far._

His eyes were open, wild and wet, but everything was just pain.

Prompto couldn’t see the door when it burst open unceremoniously, but he heard it like canon fire over a graveyard. His arm was dropped immediately, his weight once again pulling it downwards and further out of place, like the burning agony twisting within had pushed outwards, scalding her hands where she touched him. A low gurgled whine of pain wormed through him, "f-for King," he found himself muttering. "Noct, for Noct. Noctis, for- for..."

If Prompto had been aware enough to think, he’d have burned the image of Cor Leonis, the Immortal himself, standing in the open archway like a bat out of hell directly into his brain. If he could see clearly or breathe real solid breaths, he might have gasped in relief, maybe turned stone cold with sudden horrible realization that all of this had in fact, been very, very real. 

“Who the hell are you?” Angry guy barked, Prompto probably would have laughed at the image if he could, stocky balding guy with an arm in a sling and a stupid dollar store face mask, attempting to stand down the man who most Lucians considered to be part demi-god. The man who’d walked into war and walked right back out unscathed countless times, against a guy who’d gotten his arm dislocated by a panicking scrawny twenty-year-old half his size.

“You have made one hell of a mistake,” Cor said, “I’m here to make sure you don’t live to repeat it.” if Prompto had been able to watch, he would have seen the way Cor flicked two blades out of his sleeves like a damned assassin, and stalked forwards with all the fury of the enraged half deity people believed him to be. Something that would be out of place on a training exercise, no doubt. Something that would indicate, even to a half unconscious newbie like Prompto, that things had evidently, gone horribly awry.

“Oh fuck,” Angry guy whimpered. Maybe, in another world, Prompto would have barked out a laugh at that. Maybe he would have been vindictively pleased to see his least favorite asshole running scared for his life after hours of him entirely enjoying Prompto ‘squirming’ far too much. Instead, Prompto lolled his head limply backwards, struggled not to choke on air as he fought through the waves of pain to stay conscious, and thought, _oh._

Then, as awareness fizzled like pop rocks, _holy shit, my_ arm _is broken._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Small mercies existed in strange ways, Cor thought. One, that there was a half hanging but still functional surveillance camera inside the warehouse Prompto had been housed in. Two, that even after Cor had lost the trail, the off-white van fading into obscurity somewhere just outside of the industrial perimeter, someone in the tech department had been surfing through various feeds and happened to notice a blonde head where it didn’t belong.

Three, Prompto was still alive when Cor burst through the door.

Lucky for the imbeciles who’d decided to grab him, or maybe unlucky; they’d be carted off to prison somewhere to rot for the next indefinite forever no doubt. King Regis was a kind King, but he was also a King who’d ruled through a terrible war. His enemies feared him for good reason. Maybe it would have been a mercy to end everything the way he’d wanted to, seeing Prompto half delirious and bruised almost beyond recognition. Which of course is exactly why he hadn’t.

Later, when the kid had been properly sent off to a hospital, and the doctors had scurried around him with pinched looks of concerns, he kept finding little mercies. Prompto was a study in suffering, all bruises and burns and broken bits where they didn’t belong, but they would heal. He’d be able to walk again, with crutches and not for a long while, but it would heal. He wasn’t likely going to lose fine motor skills in his hands. He’d take that likely and run, thanks.  

Finally, mercy number four, Prompto had slept through all of it. A genuine kindness from the gods even Cor had to grant a small thank you for. Having bones reset was not a pleasant experience, and judging from the network of lightning scars around the kid’s skin, like red vines twirling in and out, it likely would have been nearly unbearable had he been conscious.

Of course, fate had needed to even out the score somehow. Which meant the council still muttering in indecision over whether Prompto could be permitted back into training- utterly ridiculous- and whether he’d been compromised. Leaving Cor, of course, to sift through the shitty greyscaled footage the tech department had managed to scrape together.

If it were up to Cor, he’d have passed the kid immediately upon finding out he’d survived. The mental fortitude for that alone was impressive, considering the circumstances. But, it was not in his control. So he watched the videos.

He’d watched with a strange sort of bubbling emulsion in his gut as an unconscious Prompto was dragged in, a single halo of light surrounding him and a chair. The big bald guy Cor had kicked the ever living shit out of grabbed the kid roughly by his hair, and threw it back down. _Concussion_ , Cor noted. A woman walked into frame and placed her hands on her hips. Every blocky pixel screaming predatory, even the nearly indistinguishable tilt of her head as she spoke. They dragged Prompto over to the chair and strapped him down, a guy grabbed him by the neck. Cor fast forwarded.

They were using every intimidation method in the book, every attempt to throw Prompto off balance. The kid’s eyes were streaming, and his breaths hitched, Cor saw the exact moment a rib cracked. He also saw the kid tilt his chin upwards, swore he could see the cold steel sliding behind his eyes like a vault door, and the robotic echo of “Prompto Argentum, Lucian citizen and Crownsguard. For King and for Crown.”

Cor blinked, fast forwarded. Saw them smacking the kid around some more, dragging him across the cold cement to a bathtub sized barrel, nearly winced when they held the kid under. Once, twice, and suddenly, Prompto was on the floor gasping and bald beefy asshole was writhing and clutching his arm. Cor’s lips hooked upwards, something warm and proud flickering against his veins. “For King and Crown, asshole.” Prompto spat, and well, one of the important rules of interrogation was to not antagonize your capturers, very specifically in fact, but it reminded him so much of himself he paused the video and leaned backwards for a moment in his chair.

He thought of Prompto’s wide and too earnest smile the day before, how he was always attached to the Prince’s side, the way Gladio tousled his hair and lit up whenever the blonde was around. Hell, even Ignis seemed to have a soft spot for the kid. He resumed the video and watched them dislocate Prompto’s arm, fast forwarded to see him strung up on a metal fence writhing for far too long, saw the moment blood painted his chin and his shirt. He watched them breaking his arm. Knocking him around some more. Then his leg. He saw himself blast through the wide double doors and stopped, lips thinning as he felt himself frowning.

He stopped the video on a picturesque freeze frame of the asshole sling toting fucker being body slammed into and through the old wooden chair Prompto had been strapped down to earlier.

“Shit,” he sighed. Cor had been expecting the worst, he’d thought. By all accounts there were still worse things, really. They hadn't irreparably damaged the kid, taken anything from him that couldn't be replaced. Prompto hadn't even broken. Somehow, seeing the familiar mop of blood soaked blonde hair made it sit like poison in his gut. Somehow, knowing Prompto hadn’t so much as wavered made it worse.

Never once had the kid so much as muttered anything, never once had he begged them to stop more than a quiet plead only once, never had he broken down or so much as hesitated. “Shiva’s tits, kid,” he muttered, rubbing a palm across his face. He picked up his phone, sending a quick message to Clarus. He wondered if they even made Crownsguard uniforms in scrawny teen sizes, or if, knowing Prompto, he wouldn’t modify the hell out of it anyways.

Cor decided he’d leave the part where Prompto had just mumbled Noctis’ name over and over out of his official statement recommending Prompto for the position. Saving the kid from a little embarrassment seemed like the absolute least he could do.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Prompto had been having a weird dream, he’d been kidnapped by a bunch of people in chocobo masks who kept trying to convince him they were real chocobos. They were hell bent on trying to get him to sing the chocobo theme song, of all things. There was something he knew, some way he was sure that if he sang it, Noct would be in danger. He called them bad duck impersonators, and they built him into a snow prison. He was cold, he might have cried, they might have danced around him and thrown snowballs; all around an unpleasant time. At the end, Cor had burst in with a real chocobo and Noctis had banned chocobo mascots from the entire city, and Prompto had decided to take up knitting so he could make himself a giant hammock.

Weird.

He'd been in the middle of trying out his new invention- a hammock as big as an entire bedroom, if you rolled in your sleep you’d never fall off! - when the yarn started feeling more like blankets, and Noctis’ decrees more like a loud argument somewhere to his left.

“What do you mean, you can’t be sure? I’m telling you I am sure, you’re not putting him through anything like that again, alright?”

“Your Highness, it isn’t that simple, if you would-“

“It is exactly that simple, he’s been through enough.” Noct’s voice was doing the shaky wavering thing it always did when he was upset. “Cor vouched for him, Gladio- my personal shield in charge of protecting my life- vouched for him, and oh wait! I’ve been vouching for him this entire time! I’m sure that’s more than enough, so if you don’t mind- “

“Highness…“ Ignis cut in, a strained note to his voice. Prompto was sure he was frowning entirely with his eyes again.

“I am telling you that the council has decided- there are security risks presented,” the stranger continued. “We- the council- believes there is still a chance that-“

“I don’t care! I really, really don’t. Prompto isn’t going to be your lab rat. I won’t let you put him through more… more _torture_ just so you can prove that you have the authority to!” The moment of hesitation broadcast everything to Prompto’s wobbling mind. Noctis was about three seconds from angry tears; even as a tell-tale shuffle from Prompto’s side indicated Ignis’ impending intervention, Prompto could hear the hitching breath from his best friend and his chest clenched.

“I’ll do it,” Prompto slurred, his lips felt heavy. His eyes only opened half way, but he saw Noctis turn in surprise.

“Hey, take it easy,” Noct hushed, dropping into a chair beside the bed. His cold hands clasped at Prompto’s clammy one just on the side of too tightly. “How are you feeling?”

The off grey walls around him spun in lazy circles, every part of him felt stretched out and inverted. He looked at the strange man and his clipboard. “Whatev’r… what I messed up, I c’n do it right. I didn’t say ‘nything, I swear.”

“Prompto…” Noct’s shoulders slumped, his eyes flashing with something heavy and upset. Prompto’s heart hurt.

“Noct,” his blinks were too slow, but this was important. “Noct ‘s okay. ‘ll do it again, an’… be better. F’r you. It’s ‘kay.”

Noctis closed his eyes and took a long breath, his hands squeezed around Prompto’s.

“If you don’t mind,” Ignis said, stepping forward into Prompto’s dizzy view. “I will be happy to continue this discussion out in the hall with, say, King Regis’ discretion at hand? I’m sure His Majesty would love to weigh in on the matter, as this is his only sons personal guard we are discussing, is it not?”

“Um,” the stranger said uncomfortably. Ignis’ smile was a dagger, the stranger pulled at his collar. “I’ll. I’ll address this conversation later.”

“Of course,” Ignis smiled again, ducking his head as the guy fumbled out of the room. 

“’M sorry,” Prompto dragged his gaze back to Noctis’ too sad eyes. Maybe he’d done it wrong, the chair and all the masks, maybe it was wrong.

“Wouldn’t sing the song. Tried to make me. ‘t hurt.” His mouth flickered down out of his control, a strange divot was forming against Noctis’ brows. It reminded him too much of whenever his Mom came up in conversation. “But, I c’n do it right this time, pr’mise,” he said, desperately. The furrow darkened. Maybe he had disappointed Noct, maybe he’d failed so terribly Noct realized he’d stacked his cards on the wrong table. Or however poker worked.

His hand twitched

“Prom, you…” Noct shook his head and paused, his head ducked low. “You did fine, okay? Don’t… Don’t worry about it, just get some rest. We’ll talk when you’re awake.”

“Yeah kid,” Gladio chimed in. Prompto hadn’t realized he was nearby, he hoped the twinge of sadness in the Shield’s voice wasn’t disappointment, too. He knew Gladio had been putting too much time into training him, if he’d let Gladio down he didn’t know what he’d do.

A horrible thought flashed across his muddled mind; Noctis with lips pulled up in disgust, turning around and abandoning him on the Citadel front steps. Gladio and Ignis shaking their heads sadly at him and following after. Losing not only his best friend, but his only other friends too. His makeshift family, even. Everything.

“I didn’t tell ‘em anyth’n,” he said, his throat felt thick. “Wouldn’t. Wouldn’t let ‘em get you, pr’mse.”

Noct’s hand squeezed his, Prompto could feel faint tremors, like each word was an earthquake.

“I know, Prom. I know,” Noct said, his voice was hoarse. “Get some sleep, okay?”

Noct was still sad, Ignis was turned away entirely but his shoulders were stiff. Gladio muttered a faint “Astrals…” and sighed. Prompto didn’t understand, but his eyes were pulling closed without his consent. Noct’s thumb rubbed across his knuckles and he faded out altogether.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The next time Prompto’s eyes fluttered open, Noctis would be ready, he decided. He wouldn’t falter at the flicker of pain in Prom’s too wide eyes, or the way his glazed expression watched him like he’d broken Noct’s favorite video game. Like he’d done something immeasurably wrong and was waiting for Noct to drop him off the edge of a tall cliff face.

Noct watched the blonde’s wrapped chest fall and rise too quickly in shaky wheezes. “When he’s better,” Noct cleared his throat, forcing himself to look up at Gladio. “When he’s better, I’m making him an official Crownsguard. I don’t care what the council says.”

Gladio stared back evenly, “I’m with you on that.”

“Indeed,” Ignis’ voice was flat, Noct sighed.

“He thought it was a training exercise, the whole time, he…” he muttered, staring at the sleeping blonde with a mixture of immense overwhelming fondness and something frustrated and too wrapped up in layers of grief. Like a gnarled barb in the corner of his mind, something scared and overwhelmed that wanted to put Prompto in a car and make him drive far, far away. Somewhere he could be goofy and kind and brave, and take stupid selfies and blurry candids and never worry about dark abandoned warehouses ever again. Maybe later he’d have the strength to analyze the thought, when Prompto wasn’t looking so still and quiet. Maybe when his arm wasn’t wrapped up in plastered pieces, and the doctor’s scrawled handwritten recommendations and the words ‘nerve damage’ didn’t loom over them like an omen. Maybe he could pull the tangle out, sitting sprawled across his couch with Prompto tangled underneath his legs, like always. Maybe they could play a game and he’d see Prompto’s grinning supernova smile, and he could let himself feel all the things bubbling in his chest and it would be okay.

Something they could laugh off and forget.

There was something far too chokingly desperate in the juxtaposition. Noct struggled to hold on, like Prompto would slip away again if his grip faltered for even a moment.

“Cor said he dislocated one of the guy’s arms,” Gladio huffed, expression flickering into pride for a moment. “Fought back every inch of the way, didn’t give ‘em anything.” He shrugged. “I knew the kid was tougher than he looked but…”

“He certainly is loyal,” Ignis stepped closer, placing a hand on Noct’s shoulder. “He’d make a finer addition to your retinue than most.”

Noct squeezed his eyes shut. “He’d do it again. He said he’d. They tortured him, for hours. Cor said they tried to… to…” his voice broke. “A-and he’d do it again, for a stupid test.”

 _Because I asked him to_ , Noct thought darkly. _Because I put him there. He’d line up again if I asked him to and he wouldn’t even ask why._

Ignis hummed. “I rather think that’s selling him short, don’t you?”

He stepped around the bed, settling on the window seat by Gladio’s side. “Psychologically speaking, it’s impossible to avoid breaking under extreme trauma. Nobody is immune. That’s what they attempt to gain through this particular exam, I believe. Whether an applicant has weak points too close to the surface.”

Gladio leaned backwards, crossing his arms. “Yet, Blondie held on.”

“Curious, if it were for only a test.”

“Huh,” Gladio smirked.

They all fell silent for a moment, Noct’s gaze tracing over the bruises that the potions couldn’t heal without draining Prompto too much. The nurse said he’d been exhausted, and hypothermic, and he’d had electrical burn marks- there’d been too much, potions only worked for immediate injuries. Not leftover cracks and bruises, those would have to stay and fade out into scars and reminders. A patchwork against his freckled skin. _Of Noct’s failure, maybe_. He assumed so, darkly. _Or maybe, Prompto’s strength._

“There is the matter of the mark they found, in surgery. The tattoo.” Ignis’ lips flattened. “That is of course, the only real reason the council is hesitating.”

“My dad said he’d handle it, didn’t he? It doesn’t matter, right?”

Gladio shrugged. “We always knew he had some kinda secret. Being a Nif is a big one.”

“One that changes nothing, of course, about our perceptions of Prompto,” Ignis gave Gladio a sharp look. “He has more than proven himself, time and time over. Though, I am concerned about how Prompto will react if this becomes common knowledge.”

“So we make sure it doesn’t. It’s just a tattoo.” Noct nodded to himself.

A tattoo Noct hadn’t known about, that signified something that made all the nobles nervous, but a tattoo all the same. Prompto had always been weirdly skittish around his bracelets, Noct found that out when he’d accidentally caused Prompto to freak out and run home mid sleepover back in High School. Prompto was his best friend, he was allowed his own secrets and reasons. Noct trusted him implicitly then, it didn’t change now.

“I’ll see to it that we keep this as quiet as we can, Prompto deserves at the least, to inform us on his own terms.”

Noct’s gaze fell again on the sleeping gunner, his wrist was bandaged at the moment, but he could almost see the thin black lines. Like they could seep through. Like anyone could walk in and find out and make snap judgements and never know how amazing Prompto really was.

He breathed, wavering and weary.

“Remember that time I made him go that horror show with me?”

Gladio snorted, “you mean when I had to watch you both pretend you weren’t absolutely scared shitless for an entire ride home?”

Noct’s smile was small and fond. “Prompto kept checking on me for weeks after that, he was so scared I was going to get kidnapped going to the arcade for some reason.” He’d texted incessantly for a whole month, double and triple checking Noct was still in his room, that he was in training. It had been sweet, and maybe a little frustrating. Prompto had flipped one-time Noct overslept and showed up at his apartment out of breath like he’d ran the twenty miles from his house. He probably had, actually.

“He never said it, but I knew he was freaked out too. His parents weren’t home that whole summer, and we’d just graduated. I think he was worried if he disappeared nobody would look for him.” _That nobody would care._

Prompto wasn’t as good at acting as he seemed to think, Noct had been to his parents place twice over the course of their friendship. There were no family photos and the walls were dusty. Noct knew what loneliness looked like on a person, Prompto’s shoulders often hugged it in capes without realizing. He knew Prompto got lost in weird looping thoughts sometimes, and came up with conclusions based on nothing but his own anxious fantasies. Prompto always had this particular lilt to his expression when he talked about the future, Noct’s inevitable duties written in neon lights in words they’d both never spoken.

“If he joins us,” he traced his thumbs over the fading yellow crescents and splashes on Prompto’s knuckles. “He’ll be safe, right? We can keep him safe?”

 “Highness,” Gladio shook his head. “Kid’s one of the most Astrals damned stubborn Crownsguard I ever met.” Prompto’s eyes flickered like he was dreaming, voices bustled down the halls. “He’ll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

 

They said it was field training. That he had one last step to complete and he’d be in, finally. Formally. Prompto thought it was a little odd to be giving a trainee an ‘officially unofficial’ uniform, but there had been one on his bed at home anyways. He’d texted Noct immediately, thinking maybe it had been a mistake, or that Noct had broken a rule. After all, he’d just been questioned by several Crownsguard members, and the King had looked stormy eyed and unmoving. Questioning and intimidation weren't typically 'hey welcome to the team' events. Were they?

Prompto figured he’d done something immeasurably wrong, somehow.

 _‘its for u, dummy’_ Noct replied immediately.

 _‘Congrats ;)’_ Gladio sent moments later.

“Oh,” he said out loud, voice echoing off the dusty walls and empty hallways. So, maybe interrogating was just something he was supposed to get used to. Along with everything else, like the constant looming nervousness. And the self doubt, and the paranoia. It was all fine, though. Probably. He'd gotten what he wanted, what Noct wanted. 

Everyone had been weirdly obsessed with making sure he was okay since he’d woken up, someone walked him to his home after work- a guard with thick sunglasses and a permanent frown some days when Gladio and Ignis were busy, usually Noct and Ignis and Gladio all met up with him at some point during the day regardless. It was. Overwhelming, almost. Having everything he'd hoped for seemed strangely empty when you were constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Cor had even stopped by his hospital room, in the long weeks before he’d been allowed to leave. The strict eyes of his doctor following him out, eyeing the crutch he was _‘absolutely one hundred percent supposed to use for at least another month, so help you Shiva’_. Said crutch rested on a far corner of his room, gathering dust on its own.

Oops.

“Hey kid,” Cor had said, leaning half on the door frame in a way that was seventeen different kinds of far too cool. “Um, good work. Out there, you did. Good.”

Prompto had subtly pinched himself while refusing to blink for a second, his dreams had been weird lately. Cor didn’t do awkward, right?

Cor cleared his throat, stepping into the room.

“I messed up,” Prompto said quickly. “I know, sorry.” He winced at Cor’s lifted eyebrow. “I should have known it wasn’t a training exercise, right? I mean, pretty dumb of me. Probably wouldn’t have made it half as far if I’d known though, I guess.”

“No,” Cor said, flatly. He stepped closer. “Argentu- Prompto.”

Prompto didn’t know what to do with the very subtly stunned look flashing across Cor’s features, he hadn’t known what to do about the tight hug Noctis had wrapped him in earlier in the morning either. Or the soft tilt around Gladio’s mouth as he ruffled Prompto’s already unruly hair. Or the quiet words Ignis had pressed between his rib cage, things about pride and strength. Things that Prompto felt like running away from because, _hey, Ignis, you're talking to the screw up nobody who couldn't even recognize real kidnappers when he saw them. I hope you got a gift exchange receipt for your kindness, buddy. Sorry, wrong guy._

Everyone was a lot, lately. In a nice way, definitely. But it also felt a lot like choking down eggshells, and he was constantly tired from physio and drugs and pain. He'd passed his limit three hours ago, when some Citadel official had called him Mr. Argentum three times in a row. 

“I know I did it, like. I didn’t talk? But I would have, everyone does. Iggy said so. I didn’t think of a way out, and I was crying a lot. An embarrassing amount, actually.” Prompto sighed, shoulders slumping downwards. “Every time I close my eyes I’m scared, that means they won, right?”

A hand dropped on his shoulder, Prompto flinched. Cor looked almost stricken, Prompto felt nauseous and upside down and gods, this was wrong. Cor shouldn’t ever look like that, Cor didn’t ever look like anything. And that was fine! That was his whole schtick, he thought. Cor wasn't ever supposed to look sad, or _worried, Astrals._

“You’re alive, Prompto. They didn’t win.” Cor sounded tense, angry maybe. Prompto felt like bundling himself up and forgetting he ever said anything at all. "Besides, kid, there are a lot of people that are sure glad you're around to be scared." 

Cor had sighed and dropped down into the chair by the door, uncomfortably as physically far away from Prompto as he could be in the tiny room. He got the sudden strong impression that Cor was... nervous. Which obviously had to still be his medication messing with him. 

"Anyone tell you I was tortured once? It's hell, but you know that huh." Prompto blinked, even as his hands tightened on his bed sheets. "They want you to doubt yourself, that's what they do. They find all your weak spots and they make them your whole identity. I saw the footage kid, they didn't find anything on you, because you didn't doubt for one second Prince Noctis would leave you there."

Prompto's ears turned bright red, he could feel it. 

"So don't do Noctis the disservice of doubting yourself, you hear me? His Highness is safe, because of you. You're safe, because you held on. Nobody can ask anything more of you than that." 

"I..." Prompto swallowed, Cor looked more like himself, finally. Serious and hard edges, but for the first time, Prompto realized that he'd always looked at Prompto with something warmer. Something proud, even. 

"But shouldn't I have... found my way out? Fought back?"

Cor laughed, short and full of disbelief. "Prompto, you dislocated that guy's arm. You were tied up with a broken arm in the middle of the winter, suffering from hypothermia and asphyxiation. You fought back by staying alive, kid. And we're all thankful."

Prompto didn't know what to say to that. His brain ran in dizzying loops trying to parse it all, bundle it in packages he could find a way to warp into a personal failure. _Error,_ he thought, _can't make into self depreciating bullshit. Cannot compute._ Maybe he really was over tired. 

"Anyway," Cor rubbed a hand through his short hair, and grabbed something from a large bag near the door Prompto hadn't spotted earlier. "Just came by to uh, give you this." He shrugged, placing a large floppy chocobo on the corner of Prompto's hospital bed. Prompto's tiny room was already overflowing with flowers and balloons and cards, but he felt his heart swell slightly at the gesture. 

"A reminder, I guess. That you have more people in your corner than you think. Rest up kid, Crownsguard training picks up again when you're better." Cor turned to leave, Prompto's voice cracked and warbled as he called out the Marshal's name. He didn't turn around, but froze midstep. 

"Uh, thank you, Mr. Leonis. Really." 

The tension lining Cor's edges deflated all at once. "Tell anyone about that, and I'll have you running laps until you barf." 

 

Prompto stared down at the chocobo plush, taking up the center stage on his lonely bed, and sighed. His arm ached deep in his shoulder and down to his fingers, his leg felt unbearably stiff most days. Noct had joked they’d both be extra whiny on the cold days now, but Prompto hated it.

They hadn’t forgotten him, he knew. They’d looked for him, right away actually. The lady with the mask had been stuffing his head full of lies, trying to break his loyalties and he hadn’t. He had a Crownsguard uniform and ‘field training’ to prove it. Really, it was just a camping trip that Noct had promised they’d all go on after graduation. Really, it was just Noct trying desperately to pretend like everything was normal.

Prompto hadn’t been good at that lately, everything reminded him of cold cement floors and chain link fences and white plastic masks. He was scared, and he hated it. He didn’t want to be afraid to leave his house. Of his own damned bath tub. Being scared meant it had worked.

_“You’re alive, Prompto. They didn’t win.They wanted you to doubt yourself"_

_You're a winner!_ He thought, bitterly.  _Too bad I already doubted, I guess. Partial credit._ He shrugged on the fatigue top, noting how large it hung on his shrimpy frame. It didn't feel like his, at all. He kept expecting someone to show up and say it had been mailed to him by mistake. He hadn't done the proper drills, jumped through the proper hoops, he didn't... Didn't deserve it, _ah there's the rub_. 

Would he have talked? If they’d left him there, if it had been dark and night time forever, would the cold have broken him? Would he have rotted away like they’d tried to make him believe?

He hadn’t done any of it for himself, didn’t that make him weak? If he couldn’t fight back on the pure basis that he was hurting and he wanted it to stop, didn’t that mean he failed?

 _‘hey, prom? U home?’_ Prompto’s phone buzzed, the goofy picture of Noctis in the tree top over the sun flare filled the screen. Two seconds before the drop.

Prompto swallowed, forced his hands to stop shaking and his arm to stop aching.

_‘yeah noct, whats up dude?’_

A quiet knock at his front door filled the silence. Prompto forced himself to stand up and take the 'Important Officially Unofficial shirt' off, grimaced at his rumpled pyjamas and hopped over to the front door.

Noct stood with a sheepish smile, Gladio and Ignis bearing snacks and movies beside him.

“Mind if we come in?”

Prompto felt a smile bubbling at his lips, fleeting but there. He took in their casual outfits, and Ignis' large plastic bags with a quirk of a brow. “Uhh...what are you guys doing here?”

Noct pushed his way into the apartment with a dramatic eye roll. “We have to party, obviously. First official day as a Crownsguard, right?”

“Quite the cause for celebration,” Ignis nodded.

“Hey, what are you doing standing around without your crutch, numbskull?” Gladio huffed.

“Uh,” Prompto said, helpfully.

Gladio sighed, and scooped Prompto up in one smooth movement, ignoring Prompto’s yelp. He plopped the blonde on the couch just as quickly, leaving Prompto reeling just a little. _What am I, a bunch of grapes? Jeeze, Gladio._

“You, sit. You,” he pointed at Noct. “Make sure he sits.”

Noct flopped gracelessly beside him, tossing his legs just a little too carefully across Prompto’s lap. “On it,” he saluted.

“H-hey!” Prompto blinked at his friend, who winked back with a wolfish grin. _Typical._ Ignis walked towards his dingy kitchen with his large bag of goodies out of the corner of his eye. “Oh! Ignis, let me help!”

“Prompto, really, that leg won’t heal up properly unless you rest.” Ignis leveled him with a friendly glare, and Noct moved his legs to trap Prompto further with a smirk. “Take this as a… forcefully caring intervention. We may have been... helpfully tipped off to the fact no one has seen you leave your apartment in a few days. I feel as though dinner and groceries are the bare minimum we could supply.”

He felt a blush rise to his ears, flustered and speechless. Very mildly chastised, maybe offended somewhere underneath. He had done groceries! Just. Ordered them to his front door, and had a rolling pin at the ready when he'd answered it. _Who sold me out?_

“Hey,” Noct poked him, dragging his focus from Ignis’ careful kitchen preparation. “Let us worry about you, okay?”

Prompto blinked his confusion.

Noct sat up a little, “did you want to play a game while we wait? Gladio brought a bunch of dumb sappy movies, but I _guess_ if this is your day and all, we could watch one. If we have to. Only one.”

Prompto opened his mouth, faltered, and dropped it closed. Noct pulled his legs up and snuggled into Prompto’s side, all casual, lazy movements, like a cat basking in sunlight. Prompto could feel the hint of tension under it though, the way Noct made sure his arm was touching Prompto's slightly. The way his half lidded gaze stayed locked on him, like he'd vanish if he looked away too long.

He remembered Noct’s mumbled words at the hospital, with an ache somewhere between his ribs. They’d had a long talk, when the drugs had finally worn off and Prompto had stopped incoherently mumbling about chocobos.

Prompto had never seen Noct cry before. Not over him, definitely not with the hint of absolute desperation that was etched in his dark blue eyes.

His heart had been a mess of twisting and leaping, full and warm and breaking all at once.

 _‘I’m so proud, you know? Nobody else has a best friend as badass as I do.’_ Noct sniffled, Prompto laughed wetly, feeling something break and mend simultaneously right over the parts of him that felt frozen over and knocked loose.

 _‘My best friend’s cooler,_ ’ Prompto muttered, smiling right before it faltered. ‘ _’m scared, Noct. I’m sorry, I-‘_

 _‘Hey, hey it’s okay. Shh, Prom. It’s okay to be scared, I’m scared.’_ He leaned forward over the bed _, ‘but we’re here, right? You made it an-and. I’m never letting anything like that happen again, okay?’_

Astrals, Prompto really, really wanted to believe him. Noct had always been a terrible liar, but his eyes were pinched upwards and his mouth hooked downwards, and for a moment Prompto worried Noct was the one that was falling to pieces.

 _‘Thank you.’_ Noct looked so serious, he leaned in close and pressed their foreheads together. _‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I will be, next time. I swear.’_ A wild thing tore at Prompto’s throat then, the mess of fear and pain finally bursting through with the gentle reassurances and quiet unending support. He shook, tears pulling from somewhere so deeply hurting in his chest that it hurt. Noct wrapped an arm around him and shook alongside him.   _‘I’m here Prom, I’m not letting you go anywhere. You’re stuck with me.’_

Prompto would do anything for the dark-haired boy strewn across the couch beside him. He knew that. Proved it, really. 

He lay awake at night, afraid unreasonably, probably, that the kidnappers would storm into his apartment and finish the job like they wanted. Or worse, that they’d make him talk despite everything in him fighting to hold on. He worried it would happen again, that even though a month had passed, he’d wake up to water splashing across his face and realize he’d never left. That he was still the one tied up in the trunk and he’d forgotten to kick the lights out, so everyone had moved on.

He hated that he was still so scared, every day, that none of this was real. That they were waiting, and all of it would happen again, and he would break this time around. He knew he would.

But, if Noct needed him? If he was the lone awkward loser standing between Noct and something awful, he’d do it over again.

He _would._

Noct’s fingers tangled between his abruptly, Prompto pulled his gaze to Noct’s casually disinterested expression that hid exactly none of the worry in his eyes. Prom forced himself to unclench his fist.

“You’re okay, Prom,” Noct squeezed his hand, voice barely above a whisper. Iggy clinked pots and hummed to himself in the background, Gladio muttered down the hallway as he scrounged for blankets and his crutch, and Prompto had never felt safer in his entire life. “I got you, alright?”

Maybe, for a moment, Prompto could let himself believe that.

Maybe, he could let himself believe that as much as Prompto would do anything for his best friend, or for Ignis, or for Gladio or Cor. Maybe they’d do the same for him.

“Yeah,” he finally said, squeezing his hand around Noct’s. “n’ I got you, back, Noct.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna talk about how ridiculously sappy these boys are, hit me up on my tumblr or twitter over @ clankclunk! (or on twitter @ jimkirkisajerk for some awful bad joke content, ;^) )


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